(_Dressed for travel, appearing at the corner of
the dormitory._)
Are they in sight yet?
PIERRE-- It was not the train.
'Twas Father Benedict.
(_Louis stands as one stunned._)
What can it mean?
(_Louis crosses the court and takes a position at
the corner of the chapel near the gate._)
FIRST MONK--He never came as early as this before.
SECOND MONK--And see how worried Father looks.
PIERRE-- I fear
That some one has told Oswald of the dream,
And he has fainted.
FIRST MONK-- I will loiter about.
(_With his eyes upon the ground the monk saunters
over toward the chapel steps and, apparently
absorbed in telling his beads, loiters about
in order to overhear the conversation. The
Abbot enters, followed by Father Benedict
leading an ass. Green twigs are stuck about_
_the bridle. The Abbot appears thoughtful._)
ABBOT--What do you mean by wolves?
FATHER BENEDICT-- Wild paws that prey
Upon the fold.
ABBOT-- And by the fold, you mean--?
FATHER BENEDICT--The Church.
ABBOT-- These wolves live on the mountains here?
FATHER BENEDICT--They do.
ABBOT-- And are not far?
FATHER BENEDICT-- Some are not far.
Within an eyeshot of the peaks.
ABBOT-- And some
Have even made this abbey here their den?
FATHER BENEDICT--Would make it so.
ABBOT-- And from these holy halls
Steal forth and prey--well, let us say, upon
Your flock?
FATHER BENEDICT--They have preyed there.
ABBOT-- Since when?
FATHER BENEDICT--And with the fleeces wiped their heathen mouths,
These wolves of Hell.
ABBOT-- Benedict!
FATHER BENEDICT-- Ay, wolves of Hell.
Hear what I say. Ah, Father, Father!
Sometimes we think our Lord is dead in heaven,
His enemies so thrive upon the earth.
We see the Devil's squatters on our lands
With deeds that seem to bear the seal of Heaven;
Yea, everything they do seems blest of Heaven.
They plow and sow; God gives them sun and rain.
Their fields wave green; the frosts are kept at bay.
They build their barns; Heaven holds her storms in leash
And seems to slumber while the singing foe
Silver their scythes beneath the harvest moon.
But when the season plumps the golden ears
And Satan brings his sacks to get the grain,
God puts his sickle in and takes the crop.
ABBOT--Or sends a reaper?
FATHER BENEDICT-- Ay, sends Benedict.
When vines are bending and the song is heard
Of Bacchus revelling in the bubbling must,
The golden trumpets of the sun in heaven
Proclaim a festival and wake the skies.
Angels come tripping to the foaming vats
And, while the devils tread the vintage out,
Brim their bright casks with gushing purple meath
To crown the crystal goblets of the saints,
Leaving the pulp to slop the swine of Hell.
ABBOT--In you I see an angel?
FATHER BENEDICT-- With a cask.
ABBOT--And in the abbey here I see the vat?
FATHER BENEDICT--A goblet.